


Four Times The Winchesters Get Drunk, And One Time They Don't

by Must-Be-Thursday (Cleveland)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brother Feels, Drinking, Gay Bar, Gen, season one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2013-09-18
Packaged: 2017-12-26 22:52:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/971236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cleveland/pseuds/Must-Be-Thursday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in season one, the boys fight monsters, meet cowboys and bikers, drink copious amounts of booze, and rekindle their brother bond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Golden Nugget

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at ff.net on 1/29/2013

"Beginner's luck I guess?" Sam gave a timid 'Aww shucks' look and pocketed a wad of cash. His three darts had found their mark in the center of the board.

Dean watched from across the room as his brother hustled the group of cowboys. He couldn't hear them over the tinny sound of the overhead speakers playing songs about beer and trucks. Dean thought it was pretty good for country music. The men were loud and excited and thumping one another and Sam on the back as they threw darts. He shook a couple of hands and returned to the table where Dean was sitting.

Later the cowboys came by and asked if they wanted to have a little drinking contest. Why the hell not, Dean thinks.

"Why the hell not?" A tall man in a black cowboy hat and matching boots carries two dollar pitchers of beer to the table. He went by Slim and the name fit. He and Dean shook hands and grabbed a pitcher. The object of the game was to drink them as fast as they could.

The first went down cold and quick. Little rivulets of beer ran down their chins. Sam watched with a mixture of amusement and something that was probably at least a bit of embarrassment. The two other hat wearing, mustachioed men cheered Slim on as he put the second pitcher to his lips. The second wasn't as smooth for either competitor, with both feeling a mixture of queasy and tipsy.

While slamming the second pitcher down on the table, Dean upended the third and spilled beer all over himself. The three cowboys started braying with laughter. He wasn't sure if he should be laughing with them or not so he looked to Sam who was busy handing over the messy wad of bills he had won earlier.

Sam helped hoist him up and put an arm around his shoulder to walk him to the impala, where he made him sit on a scrap of tarp during the ride back to the motel so he didn't get beer on the upholstery and get mad about it when he was sober. Sam had rolled the window down in case he got sick, and the cool air felt good on his booze-warmed face.

Sam hauled him to bed where he promptly sprawled on his belly and buried his face in the pillow while his brother tugged off his shoes and socks.

"Come on Dean, roll over so I can get your wet clothes off." Dean grumblingly obliged.

"Gonna be sick Sammy."

"No, you're not." Sam said, yanking off his elder brother's soaked jeans.

"'M not."

Dean let out a huge and frankly awful belch. As Sam was pulling off his shirt, his blunt fingernails trailed along Dean's ribs and he began to giggle and kick. Leave it to drunk Dean to be both ticklish and giggly. The kicking didn't help with clothing removal, and the shirt got stuck around Dean's ears, which he apparently did not find the least bit funny.

"Bishh." he slurred in Sam's general direction.

"Jerk."

Sam yanked the shirt the rest of the way off. Dean grinned at him childishly as his eyelids began to droop with sleep. He had gotten most of his clothes off and was debating on removing the slightly damp boxers. The fact that they were damp at all probably meant they were uncomfortable and it's not like this is the worst thing Sam had done in the line of duty. They would have to go.

Luckily Dean was more cooperative for that part and it was over quickly and Sam was covering him with all the blankets in the room so he wouldn't get cold because he was naked. Sam is an awesome brother. He would have helped him redress but that would have been a hassle. He was tired, and that was a lot more naked Dean than he cared to see. Ever. He carefully climbed into bed next to his highly inebriated and slightly drooling brother. He knew he would spend most of the night watching Dean with great vigilance to make sure he didn't choke on his own vomit. The things you do for love.

"Goodnight Dean."

"M'night Sammy."


	2. Pour House

Everyone in this bar is drunk. Dean is drunk, Sam is drunk, the people at that table over there are drunk, the bouncer might even be a little tipsy. Although who could blame them, it was very nearly Christmas, and people were celebrating. The creative if slightly inept bartendress had developed some red and green jello shots that tasted more like burning alcohol than anything. Plus there was eggnog, also with enough booze to put a santaesque rosy red blush in your cheeks. The speakers were blaring a fuzzy rock cover of Santa Claus is Coming to Town. There was a little fake Christmas tree shoved into a corner with ornaments made out of beer cans and various sized bottles shoddily wrapped underneath. It was obscenely festive.

Everyone was getting trashed on Christmas shots and Santa shooters. People were laughing, and hugging, and singing drunkenly while leaning on each other's shoulders. The A Christmas Story marathon was on the tv above the bar, and even though they had seen bits and pieces of it a million times, Dean and Sam still laughed when the kid got his tongue stuck to the cold metal pole, or when Ralphie had to put on his bunny outfit.

Several boozed up couples had started dancing to Jingle Bell Rock. Little Christmas tree and ornament shaped lights lit them up in red and green as they twirled by, stumbling and bumping with open mouthed laughter. Men and women with their hands on eachother's waists, heads leaning on shoulders, moving in for sloppy drunken kisses.

Sam and Dean were in their only little Winchester world. Little plastic shot cups were stuck to the bar by bits of melted jello. They had also decided to try the eggnog that was more rum than anything else. They sat nursing that for a while, drunken smiling faces lit up by a neon glow. Both cupped their chins in their hands, eyelids getting droopy. Luckily they were within walking distance of the motel they were calling home that night.

It had gotten later and later, but it seemed like they had just come out of the cold and sat down. The woman behind the bar was flickering the lights and taking last orders from a few stragglers. Sam quickly downed the last of his eggnog. When Dean went to do the same, he realized it was already gone, though he couldn't remember when that had happened. They bundled their coats tightly around themselves, pulled gloves out of their pockets, and threw a wad of bills on the bar.

Outside it was swirling snow. Fat, wet snowflakes stuck to eyelashes and upturned noses for a moment before melting. Dean double checked to make sure the impala was locked. It was. Sam leaned against the hood, gazing up toward the sky. His brother joined him, noting a few especially bright stars. He pointed out the three star'd belt of Orion, and its bright stars Betelgeuse and Rigel. And of course both knew how to find the Northern star, always ready to guide them. It was quiet outside with the snow muffling things. A few other people stumbled out into the night on their way somewhere. The weak strains of Silent Night float back to them on a whisper of wind. Subconsciously the boys start to sing along, fumbling with the near forgotten lyrics. It's not very pretty, but it feels right. All lit up in pink and orange neon, more sunset than Christmas, they sing like they might actually believe in nice things instead of monsters.

On the short walk back to the motel they bump shoulders, half accidental and half playful expenditure of excess energy. They are happy in a way that could break at any moment. They aren't after any big scary thing that lives in the dark, they just finished a salt and burn a day or two ago that resulted in no injuries or fighting between the brothers. Things are looking good for now. They never stay that way for long, but its nice to have this moment.

The second they get in the door, they nearly jump into their respective beds. Well Sam actually does jump into his bed, not a great idea considering his frankly ridiculous height. They kick their boots off and onto the floor in unison, wiggling under the scratchy motel covers. In seconds they are snoring, still clothed and with their legs hanging over the sides of the bed.


	3. Pink Pig

The Winchester brothers pulled up to a small brick building, impala engine roaring, tires squeaking over the gravel of a parking lot. A little blinking neon sign flashed the words 'Pink Pig' and the shape of a pig in a hat holding a martini with a little neon olive. This was what had attracted them in the first place, or had attracted Dean anyway.

They made their way inside, boots crunching over the gravel. There was a beefy dude with a too tight t-shirt and slightly exposed beer gut standing at the entrance checking identification as people came in the door. Sam almost never got carded, likely because he was eight feet tall. The large bouncer only took a quick look at the offered card and ushered them inside.

Everything was lit up with purple and pink neon. Something loud and sort of electronic, and bass filled was pumping over the speakers. The vibrations went all the way from their toes to the roots of their hair. It was like being inside a giant pinball machine.

"Dude this is awesome. I'm getting a drink."

The bartender looked like the love child of a Stepford Wife and one of those super buff firemen they put on charity calendars. He was all peroxide blonde hair and brilliant white teeth. He was also wearing a bow tie and suspenders with no shirt, and tight shorts. All of his attire was pink.

"What can I do you for?" He asked through his obscenely large and plentiful teeth. Dean has to stop himself from thinking 'The better to eat you with.' and figure out what to order.

"Uh yeah, what's an Alabama Slammer?" Dean asks.

Turns out an Alabama Slammer is the biggest, fruitiest, girliest, orangest drink in the place. It also smells like peaches and comes with a little pink umbrella. He ordered one for Sam and a beer for himself. One day he will get tired of passive aggressive girly drink ordering, but not this day. Before returning to his brother, he sneaks a sip. It tastes as good as it smells and now he feels a little reluctant to give it to Sam.

Girly drinks don't come cheap and this place doesn't seem to have pool tables or dartboards to win them some much needed money. Although after another look around it appears to have stripper poles and a fairly packed dance floor. This bar just kept getting more awesome.

"Here. I got you something." He sets the drink in front of Sam who seems to be staring rather intently and rudely into a dark booth where a couple is making out. "Dude, earth to Sam." he waves a hand in front of his brother's face.

Sam turns to face him again and he looks maybe slightly worried but Dean can't figure out why so he just urges him to have some of the booze laden peach monstrosity while he takes another look around. Then he notices something.

"Sam. There are no women in this bar." Sam gave him a bitchface to end all bitchfaces. The one bitchface to rule them all.

"That's because we are in a gay bar Dean." Oh. Actually that made a lot more sense now that he thought about it.

Well he was definitely far less excited about the strippers now.


	4. The Keg

There was something to be said about the large amount of people who considered leather to be a good clothing choice. And that thing was 'Eww'. It wasn't especially warm, and the durability was greatly exaggerated. But for bikers, there was nothing like it.

Sam and Dean were fresh off a fairly disappointing hunt involving several missing persons. It turned out to not be anything supernatural at all, just run of the mill human crazy. The Winchesters weren't in the killing people business, but when you find yourself in some sort of hillbilly version of The Most Dangerous Game, and you get your ass beat by the inbred twins, you might change your mind. Somehow Dean ended up the worse for wear even though Sam got locked in a cage.

It was never fun to be reminded that humans could be monsters too. It was easier to deal with demons or any of their regularly scheduled creatures. So they were here in this generic small town biker bar drinking away their new aches and pains while Sam looked for a new job. His fingers clicked over the keyboard of his laptop and he made pinched faces as he scrolled.

Dean had happily filled the jukebox with all the quarters he could find, including a fist full pilfered from his brother. It played classic rock song after classic rock song. Zeppelin followed ACDC followed Floyd. He was drumming his fingers across the bar, peeling the label off his beer, and just burning up nervous energy and adrenaline after the hunt.

The bikers were receptive to the music. They nodded appreciatively while sipping beers, did little hip shaking moves while shooting pool, grabbed their partners for quick kisses. Everything was underlaid by a thrumming rock beat and the thundering of motorcycle engines.

The butterfly bandage on Dean's temple was itchy and annoying, but he couldn't mess with it without Sam nagging him. And Sam himself didn't have a scratch on him. He just sat across the table from Dean, perfectly fine, writing notes on some scrap paper he shoved in dad's journal. Lucky bastard.

They stayed for a long time, not really talking, nursing the same beers. Tomorrow they would look for a new gig. Maybe they could even sleep in and heal up a little bit. The lights were coming on and people were gulping last orders and getting up to leave. Sam and Dean leave a decent tip for the tired woman working behind the bar, collect their things, and leave. After all, they have a job to do.


	5. The Pinecone

Another long day and night of driving. The Winchester brothers had gotten in the car to drive to Fitchburg, Wisconsin to check on some sick kids. They had jumped in the car the previous afternoon and driven straight through the night. Sam was snoring with his face mashed against the passenger window, breath leaving clouds of vapor where it touched the glass.

Dean's eyelids feel heavy, and his eyeballs are sore and scratchy like they had been rubbed with sandpaper. He had caught his head bobbing a couple times too. He would have given anything for a hot, strong cup of coffee. And he was in luck because up ahead there was a little truck stop with a parking lot full of big rigs. Dean flicked on his turn signal and pulled in, tapping Sam's shoulder as the car came to a stop.

"Come on sleeping beauty, I'm starving." he said, jabbing Sam with his elbow.

Sam shook his shaggy head and looked blearily at his brother. Dean had put on some local soft rock station around one in the morning and Sam had slowly dozed off. Sam had put his head back down, now throwing an arm over his head. Dean shut off the impala, quietly exited the vehicle, walked around the side, and banged on the window with his knuckles.

"Jesus! What the hell Dean?!" Sam snuffled and pulled his door open. "That was really uncalled for." he huffed. He looked around at the trucks in the parking lot before cracking his neck and reluctantly following Dean inside.

Inside everything smelled like a mix of pine sol and donuts. Uniformed waitresses shuffled back and forth carrying pitchers of coffee and sassing several octogenarian farmers in ball caps who appeared to be regulars. Sam and Dean wound their way to a booth in the back corner where Sam stretches his long legs over the vinyl covered seat and pressed his head against the wall.

A petite red-haired waitress walked up. "Can I get you something to drink darlin'?" she drawled, scratching her head with her pen.

"Just water for me, thanks." Sam mumbled from somewhere under the hood of his sweatshirt.

"Coffee. And can you give us a minute with the menu?" Dean gave the woman an exaggerated wink and cracked open the sticky laminated menu. The cover says, 'Start smiling'.

Sam had fallen asleep again, Dean can see that his eyes are closed under the shadow of his hood, his mouth is hanging half-open. Dean tapped his fingers across the table top and decides on steak and eggs.

When the waitress came back he ordered cinnamon roll french toast for Sam, and a big glass of chocolate milk. He sat quietly and stared out the window while he waited for the food to arrive. After a couple of minutes Sam let out an awkward snort and stuffs one of his arms under his head. Dean got a refill on his coffee from another waitress with a long braid down her back.

Sam woke up when the food arrived, wiping some drool from the corner of his mouth. Dean downed the last of his coffee in one gulp and tore into his plate of steak and eggs. Sam scrunched his nose and looked down at his plate.

"What's this?" he said sniffing at his french toast. It smelled like cinnamon heaven.

"Cinnamon roll french toast. They didn't have salads, so I thought..." Dean trails off, taking another bite of egg.

"Thanks Dean."

Sam picked up the syrup and started to pour it over the cinnamon rolls. With one hand he found the glass of chocolate milk and took a gulp. He shoveled giant bites of breakfast into his mouth and didn't stop till his fork clanked on an empty plate and his cup was empty. He leaned back in his seat and patted his full belly.

Dean drank five more cups of coffee before they left. He stopped to pee three times before the reached Fitchburg.


End file.
